By holding the lower curve of the wheel, and watching the tree-lined shore, Kitty could steer, and give the motor as much speed as she dared. When they had gone several yards, and just after a fresh spatter of lead struck their stern, she took a chance on lifting her eyes high enough for a look ahead.
Three more shots trailed them, but fell short of the mark, and a few minutes later they felt that they must be out of range. By the smudge of smoke at their right Kitty knew they were now passing the dump pile, with open, safer water ahead. Not until then did she dare give the boat any real speed.
She glanced down and saw Brad’s face drawn and white at her feet. Blood had run from his coat to the bottom of the boat. Kitty rose from her crouching position and saw a sheltering arm of marshland ahead. When she rounded this so the boat was hidden from Mangrove Island she cut off her motor and bent over Brad. When she unbuttoned his coat she found his shirt saturated with blood.
“A little lower and it would have gone through your heart,” she said anxiously. “Wait, I’ll try to stop that blood.”
She was thankful her father always kept the launch prepared for emergencies. They never went out without field glasses, flashlights, a lantern, a jug of water, tins of food and a first-aid kit.
Her deft fingers cut away the bloody clothes. She cleaned the wound as best she could, then bound it tightly to check the blood.
“You seem to know how to do it,” he said gratefully.
“I took two first-aid courses at school, but haven’t had much chance to practice.”
“Hope you don’t have another chance like this any time soon,” he said ruefully.
With the blood checked Brad struggled to a sitting position, his left arm lying limp in his lap.